Doesn't remind me of anything
by hiddendaisy1821
Summary: Perhaps this problem deserves more nicotine patches than he initially thought. It always did demand his full attention when it came to her. The mind palace at the wedding was just a small step into his own personal oblivion.


**Summary**: Perhaps this problem deserves more nicotine patches than he initially thought. It always did demand his full attention when it came to her. The mind palace at the wedding was just a small step into his own personal oblivion.

**Disclaimer**: Inspired by a tumblr post, another Sherlock/Irene story from me. A huge thank you to all of you who reviewed/favorited the last one, it meant a lot.

-SH-

Today, he had slipped again. Caught himself thinking about something he promised he wouldn't. Not anymore. For him to spend so much time on this unrelated and abstract topic for so long is ridiculous. So useless.

Yet, his feet take him to his window where a reflection glared with something he could no longer deny. Opening the drawer he pulled out an already familiar object. It didn't take long for his fingers to trace its shape, even though it was already committed to memory, as if to draw out that feeling back. A memory.

Still his eyes refused to look at the object in hand. No need, he knows it well. Inside and out, every crevice that makes its form.

It was raining that night also.

The dark and damp nights are when he feels closest to that moment. Never once did he believe that he would be caught in its web. Sentiment. How fickle is life to have placed him an obstacle he couldn't ignore. Couldn't help but admire.

So on nights like this, where he is left to his own thoughts and the silence pressures his mind, he relents.

Turning around he goes to his chair, opposite a place that only stood for two people in his mind. Here, him and John spend countless hours poring over their cases at the time, searching for clues and signs to help them progress.

The time has left an imprint on the object before him, while his hand caressed the shape in his hand, tracing it as if to recall the memory to present. Here before him. Fabric clearly faded from use and he could even see the hair glinting under the nights light - John should clean once in a while. It would kill him to do so, or missus Hudson.

He could see it all, every hand imprint on it, the indentation on the right side where he tapped his obvious frustration away. Small things frustrate normal people - they fuel him.

No matter how hard he looked, he couldn't find the trace of the other person. John's left a trace in his life and in his home as an important person in Sherlock's life, but the other didn't. He cast a look over the room like a hundred times before in search for anything, another reminder of her. Gripping the object in his hand tighter, he tried to will its connection to life. This was getting ridiculous, he needed to stop.

What if Mycroft found out how affected he still was. He would never live it down. His dear brother pointing out how he, Sherlock Holmes, was like the rest of them. Good God no.

Still, he missed her. Just admitting it made him feel like his own worst enemy. He may have won in the end, but he lost to something much bigger. Something even he couldn't control. Couldn't help but feel in spite of all the rationality.

"If you grip that phone any harder it will break and then, by your luck, you will deal damage onto your hand that will serve as a permanent reminder."

He snapped his head towards the voice, and there she was. Sitting across from him with an amused smile was Irene Adler. She was sitting in that chair.

"How many patches to solve this problem, Sherlock? Or am I too much for you to take?"

Too much and never enough his mind responded. It seemed that the only way for his mind to deal with this is to conjure her to reality, looking relaxed and comfortable in his space as she did that night. He took her pulse and nothing was the same. It affected him no matter how much he wanted to say differently.

And now, apparently, he was talking to a hallucination. No patch could solve this problem, but something could, or rather someone.

He did feel her eyes on him and it just made him agitated. Like if he didn't do something his body would do something he might regret. Slapping the phone down on the armchair, he tried to relax. There were many things that he did to try to broaden his mind, he could deal with this. Maybe his brain just longed to indulge in an interesting and stimulating conversation.

"Yes, well it appears as if I am quite bored and my mind sought something that can hold my attention."

She looked at him with a smile that never left her face, only an eyebrow raised in mischief.

"Really, so I do hold your attention, Sherlock."

Even as a hallucination she could rattle him and it just made him miss her presence. He wished she was here to just delve in a debate with him.

"A woman with your profession is what makes you interesting. It had nothing to do with you, but with what you do. Spare me the emotional babble."

The anger rose in him and he couldn't hold it down. It was always hard for him to hold onto his emotions around her. He just couldn't understand it. Even though he might have come off as cross or an emotionless bastard it didn't affect her.

She just laughed out loud and shook her head, as if confirming that this was an expected reaction from him and it irritated him to no end. How is it that he could never surprise her with his actions? She always understood him and his behavior, even when he himself didn't.

"Don't blame me. I'm just a hallucination, remember? You really do lose your wits as the night goes on."

This is what he likes, deep down, someone who understands his need for extreme. The search for something more is what always spurred him on. The other side that wasn't constricted by the rules and laws was always making mistakes. He always caught them and his need to see that perfect murder just so he could solve it grew in him.

It was a path in life he had set for himself. Nothing else mattered, until his mind set on the next case, never looking back, always pushing forward. Yet after he met her, no matter how many cases piled up at the end of the day it is her that was on his mind. So in here, he could be honest with himself.

Sharing is sign of weakness, yet he will indulge. It was only him here after all.

"The cases are not enough anymore. They can't keep my mind occupied for me to push you out of my mind. Today, I saw you again. My mind palace, doesn't seem to be mine anymore, for you have taken residence there it would seem."

She regarded him with a somber look, as if his mind is slowly unraveling at the fact that he was admitting all of this out loud, no matter that there was no one but him present. She cast a look towards the phone on the armchair and looked back at him.

"What if you got rid of the phone? There would be nothing left to remind you."

Nothing, she says. Isn't she supposed to be a reflection of his state of mind? With it came the knowledge that he had tried everything to get himself to bin the damned phone, but just couldn't do it. That and every little detail about her is etched into his mind and that even now her hallucination looked every bit as real as Irene.

She suddenly clapped her hands as to call him out from his thoughts.

"Too much, I know. Let's look at this from another angle Sherlock. As it is, you're not getting rid of me that easily, why don't we focus on accepting it as a part of you."

Before he could gather his thoughts to grasp what she was talking about she continued.

"Why don't we deduce on how to get me here, for real of course. This is just too odd. Yes, it seems a bit much. How about an acceptance over the pesky emotions that troubles you, so that you can concentrate on more important things? At least for the moment, no."

It seemed plausible. Maybe if he could sort himself out he could get out of the funk so to speak. Understand and adapt. The next question took him of guard nonetheless.

"What does that phone represent? What does it remind you of?"

Looking back to the offending object, he couldn't help but look at it clueless. Logically, it was just a phone, expensive at that, but of no value to him. It was Irene's. It held an archive of messages past between the two of them after all the incriminating evidence was wiped off of it.

It didn't hold any personal detail on the mentioned woman. The state of the phone told him it was well cared for even before it was in his position for they also found what it meant for Irene. It was her protection. Still, all of it doesn't mean anything to him. Why did he keep it?

A simple enough question, one he answered already, on the night he and John first met. Analyzing his best friend's phone and his sibling's marriage in the process he's made a very simple deduction – if she's left him he'd have kept the phone. Because that's what people do. Sentiment.

That would imply that Irene means something to him. Yet, the variables aren't the same. They didn't feel to him as ordinary as Harry (Harriet? He never was good with names.) did. For him, Irene was a hurricane that came in and left a part of town devastated in its wake and the said town is having trouble working at optimum because it can't work without the destroyed part.

How did that reflect on him?

"Yes, Sherlock, what does it mean to you? Among all the brainstorming it is obvious that something much more intimate lies to be revealed under it all."

He has been so lost in his thoughts that he didn't see her move. Because when he came to, he saw her mere inches from his face. She had moved and had placed her hands over his while her frame was supported on her knees. He felt the heat pulsing through him as if she was really there and he felt blown away by her presence as always.

With it, he decided to finally give in and admit to the facts. Sherlock was logical if anything. The overwhelming amount of evidence that supported the theory that he didn't want to admit to makes it real.

Taking a deep breath to calm him and find his center. Exhaling and slowly opening his eyes he looked at her with a confidence. She was staring intently at him, still not moved from her place mere inches from him, but now an excited look was shining through, as if his consciousness couldn't wait for him to voice it.

"Say it, Sherlock."

Her blue eyes were all the encouragement he needed, but before he could say it he realized that this wasn't real and she wasn't real. It wasn't some hallucination that was supposed to hear it. Even she realized his reluctance and with a sigh she said,

"Too late."

With that she moved away and sat back onto the chair opposite of him.

She really was something. Even as his conscious, she was the one who knew the way. When he thought about it after everything he felt more at peace. It doesn't matter that he didn't say it. He had new information and with that information in mind it was time to understand his next move.

Finding her would be a problem. Nothing he hadn't dealt with before. She may be good at disappearing, but he is also good at following the crumbs she left behind. After all, who will be there when her luck runs out (he was before).

It was time to put his mind to good use. Now when it mattered and the real stakes were on the table. First things first, he looked at her squarely and with a smile and a nonchalant wave of the hand said.

"Terribly sorry it took so long. As much as I appreciate what you have done for me, I really need you to leave so I can get on with doing what I do best. As for the result of it…"

He stood up and moved towards her, there he positioned his arms on the armchair, effectively trapping her in the chair.

"You are not her and only she deserves to hear what I have to say. Good, now go."

As she looked up at him, the excitement returned and a self-satisfied smile blossomed on her face. Crossing her arms and legs in the small space between them, she looked at him defiantly.

"Good. Now find me, Sherlock."

With that he turned away from her to grab his phone from the table, when he turned around she was gone. After the first ring he heard the answer.

"Mycroft, no time to chit chat, I need your help."

He could hear his brothers' interested inquiry about what, but all he could feel was the sound of his heart beat hammering at the sight of a new challenge. Grabbing his coat and swiftly pulling it on while he climbed down the steps of his home, he felt like he was back and maybe better than ever.

Opening the door he stated to Mycroft.

"I need you to help me track down Irene Adler."

The game was on and this time he was planning to collect.


End file.
